


Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky

by venefica_aura (crankyoldman), verdot (crankyoldman)



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/venefica_aura, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crankyoldman/pseuds/verdot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tifa's stuck in a rut and Veld has specifically put himself in one. Neither are looking for anything more than something to pass the time. But it's not what you're looking for or looking away from that always counts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some time ago, been going back and forth on whether to post it here. Mostly the fault of Darknightdestiny and Tijuana Pirate, who seem to have adopted my favorite Turk and share my love of the wonderful Tifa Lockheart. If you're not into May/December then this story isn't for you. I imagine this being sometime after Advent Children, and I'll pretend Dirge of Cereberus didn't happen. XD I'm kind of fond of this story, because it's not angsty or dramatic, really.

There were a great many things learned in old age. Like how to run a damned cash register.

Veld had gotten a job. Not a passing the time and waiting to die kind like Shinra was sometimes, but an actual job where he had to put life and effort into it. And it was almost good.

It wasn't really hard to run a shop, so long as he kept a meticulous inventory. Part of him would always be in the past, but at least this past kept his future going. Namely, antiques, which afforded him meetings with some strange and varied people, who didn't turn out to be very different from himself.

In a way, it was kind of comforting to know that he wasn't the only one that wasn't entirely comfortable with all the newness, with all the change and hustle and brightness. It was uncomfortably bright.

Maybe it was because she wore black that she caught his eye.

"Can I help you?"

Dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, and had obviously been outside in the unforgiving sun for a while. The skies had cleared and even if his skin could handle it, he preferred not to be out in it. He imagined her complexion would look like porcelain if she stayed indoors more, but porcelain never did look very human.

Her face was very honest. "I was just browsing."

"Feel free, just watch it around that record player, you bump it and it might fall apart."

"You don't seem to have much confidence in what you're selling."

"Well, it's all junk anyway."

That was the first time he'd ever talked to Tifa Lockheart directly. It was that curious sort of smile that gave away who she was, as he almost didn't recognize her. One of those kids, whom he'd done a bit of research on. For slightly professional and mostly personal reasons.

She'd cut her hair, that was it. And covered up her midriff. She looked very different like this, with a black dress on like she had just gone to a funeral.

He didn't want to think about funerals.

"Actually, I'm here to sell some junk. You do all the dealing around here, right?"

"I thought about hiring a couple of young assistants to run around and do all the dirty work, but those types are in high demand these days."

He couldn't read her as well as some people, but she at least she appreciated his sense of humor.

"Just some girlish things... you know, you get older and you don't need to hold on to them."

"No, I wouldn't know much about girlish things." He got her to actually laugh with that one. His kids wouldn't recognize him like this, talking with a pretty young woman and making her laugh.

"I know it won't be worth much..."

Worth wasn't always counted in gil and he could tell by the careful manner in which she handled it. Back in his time they were called memory chests, and he could understand why she was here now.

And why in the world she would be within walking distance of a beach and wearing black.

"Is there a price you were looking for?"

"Twenty gil?"

"Sold."

_ooo_

His name was Veld.

She visited twice to figure that out. He was clever enough to steer the conversations away from himself and she found it intriguing. He didn't mind talking about how business was going or some colorful character he had meant, and he was always friendly. But Tifa knew a lot about friendly people and taciturn people just the same.

It was a form of professionalism.

She'd seen it with a lot of people in his generation. Cid was on the clinging edge of that, and even if he was loud, the professionalism lay in the perfect shine of his vehicles and the detailed descriptions. Vincent had acted like that when he wasn't pretending he was the boogeyman.

Out of the two, she'd gotten to know Cid quite well. Vincent sort of disappeared off the face of the planet. She had to wonder what happened to him.

"So you paid how much for this thing?"

"An embarrassing sum.

She wasn't doing anything here, business wise. All personal. Tifa realized working and hoping wouldn't do anything. So she was giving herself some time. Shera had loaned her the money; that woman kept surprising everyone. Sometimes she had to wonder if she was mad.

"Well, it is beautiful, really."

"The manufacturing process has been lost, but despite the sum I think I fooled the dealer. Idiot couldn't recognize a Mideelese original if it smacked him upside the head."

His arrogance was a slightly different one to most men she'd known. Cloud had a force of will that made him seem arrogant sometimes, but mostly, it was simply _him_. Reno relied on wit, which made him cocky. Cid's was talent. Most people she'd known were ridiculously talented in something. Barret was emotion.

"It's kind of sad that so much time went into something that kills someone, don't you think?"

Veld had spent a very long time building up the authority to back up his arrogance. And it bothered her how much time she spent trying to figure out a man that she'd only talked to a few times.

Some things about her would never change, she supposed.

"Well, it could be to defend someone."

_ooo_

Making a gun display worthy was just as tedious as keeping it in working order. Veld understood why most collectors also knew how to use them--it was inevitable, in a way. There was a piece he was trying to track down, another Mideelese one, but he was hitting a lot of dead ends.

He was spending a lot of time looking for beautiful deadly things.

Tifa's vacation had been two weeks, and she'd been nice enough to stop in before she'd left. It had been nice to have a regular visitor; he hadn't expected those after he'd told the remaining Turks that under no uncertain terms they were to, as they put it these days, 'fuck off'.

She tried really hard to be a good person.

Revolvers were really the most interesting to clean. If it weren't for the fact that the spin and the click being such a satisfying sound he'd wish that they rid themselves of the frivolities.

The main point of making a gun display worthy was making sure someone else couldn't get ahold of it. Someone that didn't know what they were doing. People killed people, but sometimes for the innocence that resides in ignorance.

He kept the memory chest, instead of putting it with the other things to be sold. Tifa was young, and because of that, she might want to track it down again. He wanted to give her the chance to take back her memories. Eventually people stopped running from them.

Eventually.

Veld supposed he would never see her again, as it was just a vacation and he was just an old man in an antique shop. It was nice to have someone to talk to, if briefly.

Besides, he'd learned the consequences of talking to pretty and pleasant women.

_ooo_

"You'll be fine. Don't be nervous."

Tifa was naturally backstage before the show. Marlene and her friends were putting on the first performance in a long time. The girl had grown so tall, nearly three inches taller than Tifa. Marlene was a girl of many talents, all of which were artistic.

It made Tifa happy to see that.

"What if I trip? I mean, I know this is good for everyone and that we should..."

"I'll be watching. And so will your dad. We won't let you fall."

She had to wonder if the girl, who was almost a young woman now, thought that she was like a mother. Tifa hadn't been around as much since Cloud finally figured out what he was and what his life meant and started causing trouble with Reno and Elena... but she liked to think that Marlene didn't ever want for a woman around.

In these utilitarian times, the arts had suffered the most. Singers used their voices to direct traffic, dancers turned to fighting monsters, and actors turned to politics. But Marlene had refused to give in to it, and Tifa had been glad for it. And Barret was beaming when he left to go sit in the front row.

She almost ran into him, literally, in her rush to her seat. Not Barret, but...

"Oh, I'm sorry... hey I know you."

"Tifa?"

"What are you doing in town?"

"Tracking down some merchandise. You live around here?"

"Ya... I can't talk right now, but after the show?"

Tifa didn't want to admit that running into Veld was a little unnerving. Not unpleasant, just... jarring. Her talks with him had been part of a transitional phase, and she was out of it. She was ready to start working again, get her life back on track. It was only a vacation.

Still, she was curious as to why he was in Edge. Not like Costa was close.

"Just in time," she whispered to Barret as she slid into her seat. He rumbled a bit--Barret never laughed, he _rumbled_\--but soon he was all eyes on the stage.

Watching Marlene act and dance up there reminded her of why she had taken that vacation. She wasn't a half mother anymore, and there was no one else that _needed_ her. So while she was proud and touched by the fact the world was still spinning she was a little...

...she was a little lost too.

_ooo_

Veld had always liked theater. A lot of men would raise their eyebrows to that, but he never really cared what they thought. Theater was one of those passively active sorts of ways to relax. Unlike movies, which felt a little flat to him. Not that every play was a good play and he especially abhorred that interpretive dance shit, but it was something pleasant.

He was trying to find a lot of things that were simply pleasant.

The leading lady reminded him of someone, though, and he hadn't expected that. Marlene Wallace, the playbill had said. The name was familiar, but the only Wallace he'd encountered looked nothing like her. Maybe he was starting to see things that weren't there.

He'd thought about just leaving and going along his way when the curtain fell. He was only in town for a few days, while waiting for a weapon a dealer had left in escrow with his cousin. Veld had never liked nepotism much, but business was business and there was no sense in him sitting and reading in his room at the inn.

He decided to stick around. Maybe he would get to shake this Marlene's hand, before she got too famous. Though, considering she was the lead in the first theater act in the Midgar area in over ten years... it might be difficult.

And there was Tifa.

"I didn't expect to find you here, did you relocate?"

"I'm only here for a few days. How are things going for you?"

"Fine... wasn't Marlene great? I'm a friend of her dad's, known her since she was," she indicated with her hand like old people often did when describing, "this tall. She grew up on me!"

So it was that Wallace. Considering the large and intense looking man that appeared at Tifa's right shoulder. Either Marlene took after her mother or she was adopted. Considering the mistrust emanating from the man, Veld figured she was adopted.

And to some extent, so was Tifa.

"Children tend to do that. Though you shouldn't talk like that, you make it sound as if you're over the hill."

"Well I am--" She stopped. It was silly that a younger woman would complain about being _old_ around a fossil like him. Honestly.

Barret spoke up then. "Friend of yours?"

"Oh! I didn't even notice you there, Barret, quit being sneaky. This is Veld, that shop owner I told you about from Costa?"

Veld got the distinct impression that Barret thought the worst of him.

"He's not giving you any trouble, is he?"

"Of course not! He's a nice man. Right, Veld?"

"I'm an unarmed geriatric, sir." Veld held out the sides of his jacket. "I'm as harmless as a kitten."

The side of Barret's mouth went up. "Jus' checkin'. You a bit old ta be real dangerous, but Tifa could always use a bit o' guardin'."

Tifa smacked him on the arm. "I can take care of myself. You just like playing big brother too much."

"Daddy! There you are!"

Veld, without thinking, turned. It was Marlene, and of course she wasn't talking to him. He felt momentarily foolish, but luckily Barret had already started hugging her and chattering at him. It was time to leave.

"It was nice to see you again, Tifa."

"Wait. Are you hungry?"

_ooo_

Tifa remembered her mother had said something about it being polite to visitors from outside of town. She'd originally meant to go to dinner with the rest of the cast and families like Barret had, but... well, she was feeling a little off. And Veld had provided a good out, really.

He'd dressed up slightly. She'd only noticed it just now, with her pasta half eaten that he wasn't just wearing the suit jacket because Edge was cooler than Costa. But no, he was from a time when you didn't just put on something comfortable, like she had, when going to the theater.

She'd also noticed he tended to refer to himself as an old man a lot. It was silly, considering he still had his hair, and it was only half grey.

"So why aren't you with the others, Tifa?"

He had distracted her with his mannerisms and she wasn't quite prepared for that. The conversation hadn't been unpleasant, really, but it hadn't been particularly good. They were avoiding any real sort of conversation because they were only slightly more than acquaintances and she had noticed that he'd turned when Marlene called for Barret.

There was a story behind that, clearly. Just like there was one behind why she was eating a comfortable meal with a man that she barely knew instead of with the closest thing she had to a family.

"You really want to know? Or is this small talk."

He put his fork down and didn't glare, but didn't particularly look vaguely friendly like he usually did. Alright, so he didn't like it when people dodged a point.

"I wouldn't have asked, but if it's none of my business you can just say so."

She'd ordered a beer because now that she'd been away from a bar long enough, she kind of missed its smell. It was half empty now and it would take a couple more for her to even feel a tingle, but she was suddenly rather focused on it.

It couldn't hurt to tell _someone_, she supposed. Particularly someone that didn't associate with everyone else she knew. Maybe his outside perspective would simply tell her that she was being stupid. She needed to visit Shera, too, while she was at it. Though, that woman had some _strange_ advice sometimes.

"Do you ever just feel... out of place? Purposeless?" She took a sip of her beer. "I'm in a rut, and no one that I know--well except maybe Shera but she's got her own problems--that no one can see it. And Marlene up there on stage like a lady just put it into perspective for me."

"It's natural for people to feel stuck sometimes."

"No, this is different. Have you ever been a parent?"

He paused a second before answering. "Yes." Illogically, she glanced to see if he had a ring. None on the left meant he wasn't currently married. None on the right meant he was out of his grieving period. These were old customs.

"Well, your kid or kids are grown up already. I wasn't _really_ Marlene's mother, and Elmyra spent more time with her than I did, but she was sort of... well a reason, I guess. I sold the bar a couple years ago now and she's all grown up and I don't know what to _do_ now, I guess."

Oh _Shiva_ she was rambling. She took a breath. "I'm boring you."

He folded his hands in front of him on the table and seemed to consider what she was saying for far too long. Long enough to worry her, because maybe unloading her problems on a slightly more than acquaintance was dumb thing.

"I think you need more than a vacation. Do you have any relatives or friends outside of Edge?"

She bit her lip. "I have a friend in Rocket Town, but him and his, ah, girlfriend have been fighting."

"No one else?"

"I know someone in Cosmo, too, but that feels a bit too much like a retirement home to me."

He smirked at that.

"I only suggested it because it seems as if Edge has left you feeling stagnant, and you would be surprised what a change of scenery could do."

It hit her so quickly that she didn't even stop to think about it. "Are you still needing an assistant?"

Judging by his expression, he hadn't expected his advice to bring about that kind of reaction. Tifa hadn't felt this impulsive in years, but he had been right. Edge had left her stagnant, in the years or so when her and Cloud were a maybe-if-nothing and then the years devoted to the bar that wore her out and then now. It wasn't Cloud's fault at all, and they had tried something, but when she kissed him it felt like she was kissing her nonexistent brother. There had been no spark.

So here she was, thirtysomething and having gone no where after that one big adventure, unmarried, talking to a man she barely knew hoping he would give her a job.

"You certain that working with antiques won't bore you a little?"

"I used to run a bar, I understand a few things about a business. And you said that young assistants were in demand these days. That has to count for something."

"I'm not sure how much I can pay you, and the real-estate is ridiculous out that way..."

"You have a spare room? I'll cook for you if you want."

He sighed. "I suppose this is what I get for giving advice. Are you sure about this?"

"You don't have to pay me, so long as you give me somewhere to live. It's a good deal, I'd think. I'll even shake on it."

She held her hand over the remains of her pasta and his mostly finished pork chop. He half smiled.

"Don't you keep up with the times? I want this deal in writing, Miss Lockheart, no one ever shakes on a deal anymore."


	2. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things had gotten more cluttered the longer he lived here.

Things had gotten more cluttered the longer he lived here.

Tifa was moving in today and he still hadn’t finished clearing out her room. A long time ago he remembered being compulsively neat, but when there were clutters from collections and merchandise alike, those habits couldn’t be kept. So he just kept things in a sort of order, hoping that he remembered where they were in time.

He glanced out the window and noted that she was just walking up to the building.

It made sense to live above his shop, which was really just a converted house anyway. Far enough away from the boardwalk to keep the younger punks away, but close enough to everything else to get a decent amount of business. Not that he had much to worry about in terms of money; Reeve had been kind enough to wire him his pension plan and the, funnily enough, life insurance he’d gotten upon death.

Technically, according to records, he was still dead. It amused him.

He cleared a path in the things he was moving and made his way downstairs. It was getting humid and the air conditioning unit had gone out two days prior, so he’d had to dig out the silly tourist t-shirt that he’d bought just in case rolled up sleeves weren’t enough.

“Well, you do pack light.”

She grinned a little at him and raised an eyebrow. “Babes and brew?”

“What?”

“Your shirt.”

He looked down. Right. He’d forgotten to turn it inside out. The tips of his ears felt warm. “There weren’t many choices. Would you like me to carry a bag?”

Veld took one before she answered, maybe there would be no teasing. It honestly was the best he could find in that damned tourist shop. And he didn’t know why her light teasing bothered him so much anyway. It was foolish.

“I’ve cleared a room for you, but you’ll have to excuse the clutter...”

“Clutter’s a word you use for a desk or a table... your entire house is like this.”

Considering the heft of the bag he was currently carrying, Tifa didn’t pack light. She packed compact. About the weight of a dead teenager, he wagered. That was a morbid thought.

“I’m an antique dealer, clutter is an occupational hazard.”

The effort of carrying the bag up the stairs and possibly his embarrassment earlier was certainly going to insure that he’d have an excuse to change his shirt. Why was Costa so _humid_? He could handle the heat, but the humidity was insufferable.

Tifa, now that he set the bag down and could get a good look at her, had adapted to the setting well enough. Back to a visible midriff and a short skirt; tan and white. Not that he cared about such things, but he had to wonder if she ever wore any color.

“I get a window, that was nice of you.”

He shrugged and rolled his shoulder. He was going to be sore later. “Wouldn’t want my assistant to feel more like a slave or anything. Inhumane.”

“Speaking of, weren’t there some legal conditions you wanted me to read?”

“Ah, yes. Just give me a minute, I’ll have to get it out of my filing cabinet.”

Some people would call him paranoid, but really, he had merely learned that paperwork was everything. It was one of the first things that he and... well, Valentine... had done once the kids weren’t looking. He planned on leaving all of the files to Reeve, when inevitability caught up with him, but he felt much more comfortable having Shinra’s personnel and tracked people files under lock and key within his own reach.

While a simple contract hardly ranked up there, it could mean something sometime in the future.

“Would it be alright if I decorated the room a bit? It’s a little plain.” She yelled a little from the next room.

“I don’t really care, do what you will,” he replied as he took care of the first order of business; a new shirt. He hated the gaudy Costan print but at least there were no barely clothed women present, just tequila bottles. Still distasteful, but slightly less so, considering Tifa had mentioned running a bar at some point, and it was in her file anyway.

He’d left the contract out, as he’d just finished typing it up. Veld had taken a while to make sure that it was straight forward and that there were no catches; which was considerably more difficult than the underhanded type of contracts he’d been trained to right.

There was something kind of tragic there, that honesty was ever so much more difficult than lies. At least he still had a few of those. They were comforting in a way.

_ooo_

Veld had told her that she didn’t have to sign anything right away, and to take her time reading the typewritten--not computer printed, she noted--three page contract. Tifa couldn’t help but think that it was strangely cold, compared to everything else about his manner, which was friendly even if it was distant.

It hadn’t taken her that long to unpack, it was just that some of her things were heavy. Like she kept a few free weights, and she didn’t want to embarrass the man further by telling him that was what he’d lugged up the stairs. Men were kind of stubborn about things like that anyway. If he got a sore shoulder from it, then it was his own pride’s fault.

Still. She hadn’t had someone offer to carry anything for her in a few years now.

He didn’t really have a kitchen, just a kitchenette, as most of the house was taken up by _things_. It would have been something worrisome for someone that wasn’t an antique dealer.

Veld had offered her lemonade, which was a little too sour.

“I’m glad that you hired me. Your lemonade is a little tart.”

“Oh, I’m out of sugar. I can take care of myself fairly well, but I haven’t had the time to go to the grocery store lately.”

She noticed it then, when he took a sip. Tifa wasn’t focused on his face because of the black lines that twined his forearm. A tattoo. She never would have expected someone like him to have a tattoo.

Tifa squinted a little, trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s a phoenix.”

Nothing really got past him, did it? “I didn’t mean to stare... it’s pretty. And I might say, a little uncharacteristic.”

That was a wry grin. “You might not call it so uncharacteristic after a while. And everyone was young once.”

It was then that it occurred to her that she might find a younger him very appealing. No scar--she was so used to people with scars these days she barely paid attention to it--and no frown lines. There were no laugh lines.

“I thought you said I was young.” Maybe teasing him would cover up her sitting and analyzing him.

“You were young_er_ once, then. I might have to add a clause in your contract that forbids you from being cleverer than me.”

“Is there any more business you’d like to talk about, before I read this carefully laid out contract of yours?”

He looked more serious, and she almost felt bad for bringing it up. They hadn’t been comfortable, really, just then, but they had a _moment_. Like when she realized that Shera was probably one of the better friends she’d had since Aeris. Even if she was a little crazy. They’d been drinking hot chocolate, because Shera really did hate tea, and Tifa had simply _known_ and it all clicked into place.

Well, there were other opportunities, she supposed.

“I open up at around 9, because no one is up around here much earlier. You’re welcome to help me organize a bit, but I keep the records constantly updated. The ledger is just under the counter downstairs.”

He finished the last of his lemonade, and only briefly made a face concerning its sourness.

“I will periodically go on outings to look for merchandise, after a while I might let you go and track down certain pieces, with the exception of guns, of course.”

“Why can’t I look for guns?”

He smirked. “Because I like them.”

_ooo_

In three months his house was starting to look a bit more presentable. About a month ago he realized that she could possibly take the fact he’d kept her memory chest the wrong way, so he had to move it into his room, near his files. Veld wasn’t sure she was ready to fess up to not really wanting to give it up, and that was fine with him.

Though, it was starting to make him a little curious.

He knew enough about Tifa to know that she’d rubbed elbows with a couple people that had known him in his past life. Luckily, they all seemed to be busy, dead, or not particularly close to her. One of the charms to having Tifa work for him was that she saw him as an old gentleman, not as anything else.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it was nice to have that again. The last time he’d had someone around that had known him as something other than a Turk or a soldier or whatever else he was that he wasn’t always proud of was his wife.

Of course, that had turned out badly. But his assistant wasn’t the same kind of fool Lara was.

It took the phone ringing for him to realize that he’d been off somewhere else again. He’d long since thrown out his PHS and used a landline now, which helped him feel settled. If anyone wanted to disturb him, he was in his own kind of fortress. Veld liked that idea, as he’d always imagined that in some other time, one that wasn’t quite so corrupt, he would have guarded a castle.

“Hello?”

_“Tifa there?”_

He knew that voice, and it put him off guard for a minute. “She’s out running, can I take a message?”

_“Can you tell her that Shera called? It’s not urgent, just girl talk.”_

...Shera MacDowell? He wasn’t always good with names, but he’d run across her before. Kind of quiet, brilliant, a little like Hojo was, minus the self importance. He remembered her name because it was unusual, like his was. She was helping with some silly proposal of some kind, and she looked nervous. Veld had joked with her about how their parents went to the same school of odd naming or some such thing like that.

Strange, how clearly he remembered some things.

“I’ll be sure to let her know.” He hung up abruptly.

This could cause a slight problem, if Shera remembered him at all. He should have known she’d keep some connection with that Highwind fellow. Had to be how Tifa knew her.

He was getting so paranoid in his old age. Tifa had dealt with Turks before, on friendly terms. Veld remembered seeing her, the last time he was with them. Tseng had almost wanted to give the command back to him, but he’d firmly called him Chief; nothing else needed to be said there.

So what if she found out he’d been a Turk.

“You look spooked, something wrong?”

Naturally, she’d come in then, her bangs plastered to her forehead and the rest of her hair held back with a kerchief. Veld never was afforded much time any more to sit and ponder things, which had its good and bad points.

He’d looked at Tifa’s file recently, just to confirm her method of fighting, just in case. Judging by the fact that she ran every day and did free weights--he'd heard her drop one once, and discovered she was quite creative with her curses--and hoped that she didn’t get angry with him. Martial artists were always the hardest to predict, oddly.

“No, nothing. A woman named Shera called? She asked for you.”

“Oh! I called her a couple days ago, I guess she’s finally free. I turned my PHS off, I gave her this number as a backup...”

Tifa seemed to like explaining her actions in detail. It was a trait that would be tiresome if she weren’t so honest about it.

“Feel free to use this phone.”

He moved to go busy himself with... something. Alright, so maybe he wanted to snoop a little. There was a delicate balance here, and he liked knowing everything that was going on. Maybe he was, as some people were prone to say once upon a time, a bit of a control freak.

There was no further preamble and Tifa hopped a little over to the phone on the wall. It too was a bit of an antique, as he figured that if he was going to surround himself with things that were familiar he might as well go all out with it.

“Hi Shera! What’s going on?”

He hid his observations behind a tweed jacket that Tifa had found a month ago at a local flea market. She’d joked that it looked like the kind of thing that an academic like him would wear.

“Oh? Well, that’s odd.”

Veld had noticed that she owned more white tank tops than should be necessary. This was after a slight argument involving the laundry--he never understood why women never trusted him to do his own, as he had lived by himself for long enough to do almost a better job than them--and her monstrous whites load.

“I’m sure I could take a little time off, if you wanted some company...”

Hmm. There was a hole in the jacket. He’d have to go check on if there was any more cedar he could buy to keep the moths away. Veld thought it was rather ridiculous that moths should inhabit somewhere so close to the coast. Parasites.

“No, no. It’s no trouble. My boss is understanding.”

So she’d be gone for a little while. He might have to go dig out a book he’d thought about showing her while she was out. Despite having dropped out of high school, yet another thing from her file, she seemed to keep up with reading. This made for few mistakes in his record books.

And didn’t employees tend to get little rewards after three months? But then, that was Shinra, whose mortality rate was considerably higher than antique dealing.

“Veld?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to visit a friend for a few days. Think you can handle that?”

He chuckled. “You constantly assume I’m helpless without you.”

“Oh, whatever. You’d be knee deep in unorganized piles of stuff if I hadn’t offered to work with you.”

“My mistake. Of course, I couldn’t have done this without your most humble self sorting through my storeroom, Miss Lockheart.”

She smiled. “Sociology.”

Well that came out of nowhere. “What?”

“That’s what you studied in school.”

She made her way upstairs then, presumably to pack and take a shower. He stood there for a few moments, wondering just what kind of thing that meant. Then again, he supposed it did make a little sense.

After all, soldiers and assassins and antique dealers did share one thing in common.


	3. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “So are you sleeping with him?”

“So are you sleeping with him?”

Tifa stubbed her toe then, and had to hop most ungracefully about. Reno had called her graceful once, in the brief time they’d seen each other, but she’d always hated that. How men wrote her off as some being of femininity or something. She could be just as klutzy as any other person, martial arts training or no. The only thing that had been permanently affected graceful-wise was her posture. She couldn’t slouch if she wanted to. She’d only just been walking back from the ladies’ room, and Shera had asked about her job and all before that.

Oh, and Shera was still waiting for an answer. Right.

“Why would you assume that?”

Shera, whose glasses were smaller than when she first met her and afforded her something of a sharper edge, gave her a look that plainly stated that Tifa was being naïve. Then again, most people didn’t really know Shera, or that in the woman’s younger days she’d been something of a hot item.

“From what you described, he doesn’t sound bad looking, and I am skeptical of the situation.”

Shera even kept several of the old love letters she got while in college. Tifa envied anyone who got letters, as she found it to be one of the better forms of displaying a genuine interest. It took effort to write something to someone.

Though, Palmer’s letter was riddled with spelling errors and an overabundance of the word “shiny”.

“Skeptical? Hey, I’m the one that offered to work for him, not the other way around. He is not my sugar daddy, I know that’s where your evil mind is going.”

Shera only had one grey hair, and judging by the four times a year that the woman would up and leave Cid and watch him scramble around, unable to find anything without her meticulous inventory, it wasn’t from him.

If anything, she was giving Cid grey hairs.

That’s what was happening right now, as Shera watched with a somewhat mad scientist glint in her eye from afar. The patio of the steak and potatoes restaurant that was common in Rocket Town allowed them a clear view of her house--for Shera actually owned the house, not Cid, one of the reasons she’d turned down three marriage proposals. Tifa had to wonder how Cid never noticed that Shera never actually left Rocket Town when she pulled her tetra-annual charade.

Then again, Cid could hardly be called observant, especially when upset.

Considering how abusive Cid was between his failure with the rocket and their little adventure, Tifa didn’t really blame Shera’s skepticism. Besides, Cid generally did miss her when she’d take off. Despite their relationship being dysfunctional at best, Tifa thought it was one of the more stable ones out of the people she knew.

“I know men, Tifa. They say a lot of pretty things when they really want something.”

“He’s just a nice old man, Shera.”

“That’s what some people call the Captain now, and you should see him when--"

“I appreciate that you like talking to me, but please don’t scar my mind. Cid’s like an _uncle_ almost and I just... just no.”

Shera smiled in that cat-like way she sometimes did and leaned back in her seat. They could see Cid bullying the young mechanic that hung around their place.

“Does Mr. Benevolence have a name?”

“Veld. Kind of unusual sounding, don’t you think?”

The cup in Shera’s hand only made it halfway to her mouth. “_Veld?_”

“Parents must have been Cosman or something.”

Shera shook her head. “No no. I know that name. He is about average height, brown hair, sophisticated looking, with a scar on his cheek?”

Of all the coincidences. Knowing Tifa’s luck it was another of Shera’s ex-suitors. For some reason, if that were the case, that bothered her. She wasn’t quite sure why, but it rubbed her the wrong way.

“Oh, another one of your...”

“Don’t be silly. He was the Turk leader at the time, I never really mingled with them much. Besides, it was rumored he was married to his job or gay or something.”

Well, that explained the gun fascination. Tifa was starting to suspect he was ex-military of some kind. Turk made sense, really, as other types of soldiers might have a difficult time integrating into a peaceful society. As she’d seen by Reno, they never really lost their habits, but modified them.

She had to wonder if Veld was paranoid, too. Most ex-Shinra employees tended to have a degree of that, she’d noticed. Even the ones that seemed not to have a care in the world.

“You mean, before Tseng?”

Logically, there had to have been a Turk leader before Tseng. To think that she was working for one in what was likely a long line of them in a job that didn’t involve general mayhem was sort of funny. The post-Meteor efforts of the group had really proven that they weren’t _evil_. Not that Tifa would run up and hug Rufus any time soon, but she could understand that people weren’t what they did.

Besides, they were moving on too. Just like she was. People didn’t often think heroes had a hard time coping.

“Yes, that one. Only ran into him a couple times, personally, he seemed pretty well behaved. Unlike certain pilots.” Shera sipped her drink then, and watched Cid throw what could only be described as a tantrum. Tifa felt sorry for the poor mechanic.

“I think Cid wouldn’t be so explosive if you didn’t keep testing his loyalty.”

The cat-like grin again. “What do you think I love about him?”

_ooo_

It was a modest slim volume that he’d found. Not particularly old, but not really new either. A sensible bonus for a good employee. Veld wasn’t sure if she liked radical Alexandrite poets, but Blake had an interesting appeal. And poetry was a lot easier than trying to gauge what kind of fiction she would appreciate.

He didn’t want to think about it, but it came anyway. A memory, though thankfully a pleasant one, as far as his memories went.

_“You’re going to spoil them when you’re leader, aren’t you.”_

“Tally, I don’t spoil people. But a little incentive never hurt anyone.”

_“So that’s what this is? Incentive? Vin’s going to be crushed if you word it like that.”_

_“Why would that be?”_

Thankfully, things were quite simple now. All the ghosts were properly buried and locked up in his filing cabinet. It wasn’t such an obvious memory chest, but he’d always been a little odd about things.

Tifa’s memory chest had been on his mind the couple of days she’d been gone. She wasn’t due back until evening and the shadows were at their shortest. It had been a slow day and there had been no phone calls and he didn’t dare touch her organization job.

Really, a slight peek couldn’t hurt.

Within the now cooler confines of his makeshift office he looked at the chest more closely. It was more like a box, really, and the only thing that cause it to have the heavy distinction of being called a ‘chest’ was the brass latch on the front, which was locked.

Of course, locks had never stopped him. Paperclips were a Turk’s favorite weapon, in all reality. The real work had been in espionage and intelligence.

The hinges creaked a little when he’d pried the lock open. And inside... well, he’d expected that someone’s memories would be personal, but he couldn’t understand why someone would have not one, but six thin pink ribbons. There were black buttons and some thread as well.

The ring made sense. Though it didn’t strike him as the thing you’d give a woman. Not pretty, but well crafted. A wolf?

There was also a half bottle of aftershave... it smelled awful. He’d always hated perfume and cologne, though. It reminded him of prostitutes and board members and other such fake people.

No letters. No photographs.

In a lot of ways, it was a sad memory box. Even if he didn’t know what each of the objects were from, they were clearly objects that had been left behind; not given. Except for maybe the ring, but even then, it didn’t seem like it had been made for Tifa. At least not what he saw of Tifa.

Maybe because it was such a lonely little glimpse, Veld didn’t feel guilty for looking. Even he had a letter in his collection. Even if he thought about burning it sometimes.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He closed the lid and locked it again. Veld didn’t want to be, but he was curious as to why someone like her would only have left behinds where her memories and gifts were supposed to go.

Maybe he would have to ask.

_ooo_

“I got you something.”

They were both surprised by how the phrase, almost, but didn’t quite match up when they said it. Tifa knew that the only hard liquor around Costa was tequila, so she’d made sure to pick up some whiskey while in Rocket Town. She didn’t really like the taste of tequila, and she didn’t figure Veld would. But whiskey she could at least make into something else he would like.

Sure, she was using an old bartender trick on him, and hoped he wouldn’t see through it.

“Ah. Whiskey. Well, I got you something potent in a different way.”

“Poetry. You do laundry, can cook, and can pick out poetry. There is something clearly off about you.”

He scoffed. “Threatened?”

“I bet I could out drink you, at least.”

Tifa had been a bartender, and good bartenders knew their own tolerance very well. They never imbibed while working, but after hours they had to check on some of the stock sometimes. That, and when she’d first come to Midgar, at a scared fifteen Barret had told her she’d better get used to the taste of it, before some idiot boy thought that they could pull the wool over her eyes.

Liquor was an education, not an addiction or pleasure. And bartenders, especially pretty ones, made good terrorists. She might have made a good Turk if the times had been different.

Of course, that’s what she was going to ask a little about. It couldn’t hurt.

“That wouldn’t be hard. But if you would like to sit around and have eaten dinner already, as I have, I suppose that it would be impolite of me to refuse.”

Impolite. She could probably get him on a few technicalities like that. Tifa hadn’t wanted to pry Shera for information, and she had said that they didn’t rub elbows much... but she couldn’t help if this really was _Veld_. If Tseng was any indication, he’d been a serious man, which followed through but there was a sense of humor, which Tseng didn’t have. So there was something different in Veld’s life as a Turk. Maybe things had been easier then.

Maybe worse.

“I’ll just make something simple.” Maybe she shouldn’t be worrying about that at all. The syrupy soda was cut considerably by this type of whiskey, and the combination was often palatable with even people who didn’t like whiskey.

They sat around the front counter, Veld having had the foresight to close the blinds and put the ‘Closed’ sign on the door while she mixed the drinks. It wasn’t very different from a bar counter, really.

“So how was your friend?” It was clear by the way he swallowed that he didn’t care for alcohol. Politeness probably got him into lots of trouble sometimes.

“She was good. Just wanted someone to chat with.”

“Hmm. So all caught up on your gossip?”

She let this kind of conversation, the polite and not really saying anything kind go on for a little longer. When she could tell the whiskey had started to take effect, she decided to drop it.

“So you were a Turk?”

The whiskey must have gone down the wrong pipe, considering he coughed a lot. She was almost worried for a moment, then he regained his composure.

“Guilty as charged. Are you interrogating me?”

“Just a little curious.”

“The whiskey was a good trick. But you could have asked me more plainly.”

“No, I don’t think I could have.”

He was too guarded a man, she knew that. It was easy to tell, from the way he dressed to the number of keys he carried to the way he inflected words; no discernable accent, as if he was worried about even betraying something as simple as where he was from.

“None of your family or ex-boyfriends or pets were killed by any Turks, were they? I’d hate to lose an assistant over something in the past like that.”

So they all talked like that. Reno had said something similar, about the whole Plate deal. It wasn’t personal, and she’d seen how they acted when they weren’t being used improperly. Reno and Elena were essentially cops now, and Rude had gotten married and settled down. No, she couldn’t be mad at them. They were adjusting much in the way her friends were. That’s how it worked.

Rufus, on the other hand, that was someone that she still couldn’t stomach. It hadn’t just been a job for him, it was an ideal. Even his old Turks watched him closely.

“No... I guess I’m just surprised, is all. I’d never heard of you, and you know, some of them have mingled with my friends and I.”

“I quit nearly... well, a long time ago. I think I much prefer this sort of work anyway.”

“I used to sort of run with a dangerous crowd too.”

“Did you now?”

She didn’t know why, but that almost sounded sarcastic. Which was silly. Even if everyone had heard about what AVALANCHE did, few actually knew who the individual people were. Only Cloud was well known, really, and he’d seen to their relative anonymity. Reeve was more of a public figure now, but he was a politician and the only person of good conscience that had been in both Shinra and AVALANCHE.

That was all complicated stuff Tifa didn’t want to bother with. So she didn’t.

“Well, you were the Turk. You know what AVALANCHE is.”

“The older incarnation, certainly. But you don’t look old enough to have been with them. So you were part of that actually helpful group then?”

Again, almost sounded like sarcasm. Maybe she was just imagining it.

“Yup. I was right there with Cloud Strife and Aeris Gainsborough.”

“So you were friends with the legendary swordsman and the inspiration for all those new churches. I’m glad you don’t advertise this, I’d have more business than I can handle.”

Tifa frowned. The churches. She normally ignored them, but it was beginning to be a bit of a popular denomination these days. Our Lady of the Water. She hated it, because she _knew_ Aeris.

Which brought her to another question. “Did you ever... see Aeris?”

Veld looked slightly puzzled. “Why?”

“Well, since you were a Turk before Tseng... and he used to watch her...”

“So she was a good friend, then.”

“My best friend.” They’d gone through half the bottle. She hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he’d made sure that she drank as much or more than he did. Sneaky man.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I did. Once. She was very young, then, though. Good kid.”

She giggled. “How old _are_ you? You always make it sound like you’re ancient.”

“Old enough to be your father. Which is grounds for me to be an old man.”

“Don’t look it.”

“Bah. So she was your best friend?” Veld was not easily distracted, clearly.

Tifa was tired of the stool she was sitting on. So she plopped onto the floor. Only a light buzz, which was good. She didn’t actually want to get drunk.

“Yup. Though, you know, I have to wonder about some things.”

Veld was slightly less graceful sitting on the floor too, but he managed to not break a hip or anything. It was easier to talk this way, with their backs against the counter like a couple of kids that found a good hiding spot in hide-and-seek. It reminded her of when she was twelve and talking to Johnny.

“Don’t be revealing any deep dark secrets, I used to be Turk, I could... use it for something devious.”

She laughed. Really, there was nothing wrong with these people. Tifa found it kind of silly now that she’d spent so long mad at them, only to realize they weren’t that different from her. “Well, since you’re so old, you might have heard something like this before. And it’s too embarrassing to talk about with another woman.”

“So no assaults on my manliness, maybe you should drink whiskey more often.”

“I _never_ made any fun of that. I just find it freakish that you’re not completely lost in a domestic setting, I’ve had a lot of friends that were male. Now hush, I’m trying to be serious.”

She did almost crack up at the expression he made, which was a little goofy. Tifa cleared her throat and attempted to be serious.

“I think Aeris might have liked me a little... you know more.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” He answered a little too quickly.

“I’m not, you know, like that... but I mean, her at least I might not have minded? Do I sound really weird?”

“No, certain people are different, I guess.”

She gave him a sly grin. “So... Shera said something about a rumor involving you.”

“Oh god, which one? That I ate a live duck or seduced Mrs. Shinra?”

“That you were... you know...”

He sat up straighter. “As I stated before, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Uh huh.” Whiskey made her slightly more bold. “So did you pitch?”

He looked mildly horrified. “Miss Lockheart, this conversation has taken a turn that I no longer feel comfortable with.”

She snickered. “So you didn’t.”

It was then that he gave her what was commonly referred to as a ‘wet willy’. Which was juvenile and yet made her laugh harder.

“Eww... boy germs...”

“I was _married_ before, it was the exception, not the rule. So don’t be getting any crazy ideas in your head.”

She slumped a little, but didn’t slouch. It was really annoying that she couldn’t slouch. His shoulder was warm, though.

“And... I think we’ve had enough silliness for now. Time to go to bed.”

Veld wasn’t really so unsteady anymore, and she had to wonder the last time she actually saw him taking a sip of his drink. Sneaky man. At least he was nice enough to help her up. She had to wonder if he was always the steady person.

“Hey, thanks for listening. I think if I’d told any of the boys I know they would have made crass jokes or something.”

Or there would have been a wicked fight. Like with Reno. Then again, she’d always been the type to chase boys that weren’t ready to be caught yet.

“Well, I was always taught not to poke fun at certain things. Though you seem not to have been.”

“Ha ha. Now help me up the stairs, Mr. Manners before I turn you into a pillow.”

He did as he was asked. “Next time you take a trip...”

“I’ll be sure to get you some kind of wine cooler or something.”

He just shook his head, but half smiled. Tifa knew she had nothing to worry about. Though, eventually she’d get a little curious about locked filing cabinets.

But not yet.


	4. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’d been trying to place her somewhere. Anywhere.

He’d been trying to place her somewhere. Anywhere.

Veld couldn’t help it, it was natural. People had places in his life, and he didn’t have one for Tifa. It had been a couple weeks now since they’d talked about anything probing, and he’d used the last of the whiskey to make food. He knew alcohol wasn’t a truth serum, but it always relaxed him just a little too much.

Maybe there was a bit of guilt for pretending as if he didn’t know who she was. Then again, she’d only figured out what he did, not who he was. That was a completely different thing.

He decided to think about where he put everyone else. It was good to clean the cobwebs of his brain sometimes.

It was good timing really, as Tifa was in the corner attempting to breathe a little life into a child’s toy piano. It was a kind of familiar thing, watching a woman try to fix an instrument, but she didn’t have the place Lara did. He didn’t even like the place he’d put Lara anyway.

Veld was delegated to sorting through a box of spare parts because they’d already had a few customers that day. There had been a woman that bought a parasol for her daughter and a man that had considered some jewelry for his girlfriend, but declined. A teenage girl had run rampant for a while, trying on hats and departed with the record player that was falling apart.

They were friends now, of a kind. So of course she didn’t fit in Lara’s place. He’d always been formal with his wife, and maybe that was why she’d left him. Marrying a musician had been something he thought would help him to forget things, when it only served to remind him. He’d restrung the cello that rested against the wall himself, but he didn’t want to play it.

She’d gotten a few notes to work. Veld should have figured Tifa understood a piano. That wasn’t something in her file.

Tally was too mythical for her. Even if Veld had learned that Tally could bleed or look imperfect or make mistakes he still held her in a high place. Maybe even a more personal place than Lara, but that was how family went. He thought that maybe Tally thought of him as family too, even if it was an unusual thing.

And he’d learned better than to find another Tally. Besides, Tally was tone deaf.

“How’s it coming along?”

“It just had a little water damage. I’m surprised you managed to have all the tools I needed.”

“Even Turks had hobbies. Besides, I knew someone that worked in an instrument shop.”

“You’re just full of all sorts of useful skills and talents, aren’t you?”

He’d never met a woman, besides maybe her daughter, that could match Ifalna’s piercing clarity. Not about herself, but about other people. She was a frighteningly complicated woman, and her place wasn’t even completely defined. Veld thought that if things were different, he would have made a bigger place for her.

When she died, there was a heavy feeling. Because he realized she might have known a lot about people, but she barely knew anything about herself. He wished Gast had been a stronger man.

“Adaptability is a trait that anyone can use.”

“So what kind did you play?”

“Pardon?”

“Which instrument did you play. Mine was piano, but that was more for my parents than anything.”

No, Tifa didn’t need a place like that.

“Cello.”

“Sounds a little stuffy, even for you.”

“I suppose I could pick up a different kind of string instrument.”

He was spinning a few numbers in his head, then, and an interesting bit of information occurred to him. Felicia was a few years older than Tifa. Veld suspected that Tifa would be surprised to learn that his daughter, perhaps the one thing he’d most managed to mess up, was quite alive and well. He also didn’t have the slightest clue where she was.

And even though he wished he’d had more time to have been a parent, Tifa would make a poor daughter, at least for him. Even if Felicia hated him and wished all sorts of death upon him, she was _his_ daughter. She didn’t look or act like Lara at all. As if the woman was a complete figment of his imagination.

“Guitars are pretty easy to pick up, I hear.”

“And they’re loud and used by adolescents wearing too tight of pants.”

He’d never heard a laugh like Tifa’s before he’d met her. That was strange, really, that she should be quite so unique, but so unnoticeable up until now. “I meant an acoustic.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Valentine... no.

“Soon as I’m finished up here we should try it out. And another to your long list of skills, you know, for your resume.”

Veld chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow. I have an appointment tonight.”

“Well, I’ll just raid your library again.”

“Feel free to”

All that thinking had gone to waste. He didn’t have a place for Tifa.

_ooo_

She was bored. Tifa wasn’t the type that couldn’t entertain herself, but sometimes she needed to go do something. Most of her organization was done, and she was feeling slightly restless. This was Costa, after all, finding something to do shouldn’t have been hard.

Tifa was still a little surprised she’d ended up here, even if it was just for now. She’d only visited it twice beforehand, after the adventure. The first time had been with Yuffie, and the second time, that time she met Veld, she had been signing over the villa they all owned.

Bringing that memory box had been an afterthought, really. It seemed to fit with selling the villa, because letting go of one thing meant letting go of other things. Right?

She hadn’t seen the box, so it must have been sold. Her sad little memories. Tifa had to wonder who bought it, and what they thought of the junk inside.

If she sat around by herself any longer, she was going to lose her mind. So she decided to go out.

It was an almost immediate decision followed by an immediate action, but then she looked down at herself. Tan skirt and a white tank top slightly smudged with dirt. If she was going to go out and actually enjoy it, she might as well go to a bit of effort.

Tifa supposed that it would be alright if she borrowed it, so long as she washed it later. It wasn’t like a new dress or anything, someone had already worn it. And she had been wondering about how it would look on her for a while now.

They didn’t make dresses like this anymore. It wrapped and it clung in the right spots and as soon as she got a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she knew that she was going to keep it. Even if the flowers were red and she’d always felt much more comfortable in neutrals. A woman had to look nice once in a while.

Her hair felt a little too short again, but she’d cut it for practicality. Still, she missed having that curtain at the back of her neck. Tifa had to borrow shoes from one of the bins too, as she didn’t own any that went with the dress.

A bit much effort for a woman going out by herself, but it felt good. She had to wonder if when Veld got back from his appointment they’d run into each other. He was probably used to women in dresses like this, though. It wasn’t too much before his time, and she suspected that there were a lot of women that went to a bit of effort for him.

The air was cool.

Not cold like most nights in Edge were, which was probably what she liked about this climate. It certainly wasn’t the sun, which made her runs that much more difficult. She thought that maybe she should start running at night. Her mind wandered.

Maybe like a lot of things that happened lately, she wandered aimlessly to it. The man’s voice was kind of hoarse, but that wasn’t the only sound. Whoever was playing the guitar had quick fingers, and an energy that she’d missed. A lot of musicians these days tried very hard to be energetic, but came off as fake.

Everyone was moving on, getting over it.

As she got closer to the whole in the wall sort of place, she realized despite the energetic guitar, the voice wasn’t singing a happy song. And that fit. A young man gave her a smile as she passed, but she ignored it. Tifa was entranced.

His voice wasn’t so hoarse sounding anymore, it must have been the acoustics. It was more... well, she didn’t have a word for it.

She could see him from the entrance of the place, and he was someone that looked around her age. That explained the words, which she was picking up more of as she stood there. Tifa didn’t know if it was a good thing to understand them, maybe it was a little sad.

_“Under the mother eyes of the Costan sky... she was happy and it shows in the sun...”_

Naturally, her eyes would wander from the scruffy man with the guitar. She should have known.

Some men stood out, as if something prevented them from fading into the background. Seeing Veld sitting at a table by himself, with what she could only guess was a virgin strawberry daiquiri resting next to his hand, she realized he was one of those. It was unfair, in a way, that she should keep running into him whenever she did something spontaneous. When she wanted to just drift, she kept getting caught up in him.

Tifa had known a lot of liars. The worst kind too, because they didn’t know they were lying. The kind that lied to themselves enough that it became truth. He’d lied about his appointment not because he’d meant to do harm, but because he simply didn’t know how not to.

She wanted to shake him or... well. She had horrible luck with men.

_“Now there’s something missing... when you’re kissing me...”_

At least she’d learned not to slink off and just let them go off and do whatever it was that they did. No, if they were going to sit there like that, completely engrossed in beautiful music, she was going to interrupt it. Tifa had to. She didn’t know why.

Of course he heard her approach.

“Interesting appointment.”

“So you caught me.”

“I wouldn’t have thought badly of you.”

“I do believe I own that dress.”

“I’ll buy it from you.”

“No need, you look lovely.”

His kind were the dangerous kind. Because even if they were liars, they did it well enough that you cold believe what they were saying. It worked because even if he was trying to change the subject, she liked to believe he was honest. It had been a while since she’d felt pretty.

“Why did you lie?”

“Sometimes old men need to sit alone for a while.”

Maybe she’d gotten a little too comfortable. Tifa was sure he wasn’t the wandering type, he would stay put if she asked. It wasn’t, well, that kind of relationship that they had but it was comfortable. Then again, she was ignoring the fact that he probably had some interesting skeletons in his closet.

“I don’t want to sit alone. So I’m going to sit with you. Do you know the singer?”

He shook his head. Yes, the drink was nonalcoholic, she would have smelled the tang by now. That was good at least. He wasn’t the type to drink alone.

_“Now there is an ocean of time... between your life and mine._

No, it was an innocent lie. She’d seen the look on his face when he didn’t know that she was there. Why were people always so lost these days? The world hadn’t ended. She knew it, she’d _fought_ for it. Anyone her age or older was so...

_“Why are you still wearing that damn ribbon?”_

_“She’s our strength, Reno.”_

_“I knew her too, you know. Can’t just turn a person, a very real girl, into a symbol.”_

Tifa resolved then, that when she got the chance, she would break into his filing cabinet. Even if it wasn’t her business, really. Because someone needed to know, and she was all there was here.

“Veld?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you like this music too?”

“It’s very real.”

Maybe Shera was really on to something.

_“When you said you loved me... I thought you loved me.”_

_ooo_

She was watching him like a hawk.

He hadn’t known what to say about it, really. He’d overheard that some musician that didn’t spew the crap that most people these days listened to was in town, and he was feeling strange. A little stretched out. Veld had been watching her a little too closely, and she didn’t have a _place_. That didn’t work in his world.

She had looked quite pretty in that dress, though.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh are you?”

He had to wonder why it bothered her so much.

“Tifa, if you want to come along next time I feel like hiding in public, you’re welcome to.”

It wasn’t like they were dating. Honestly, what was he so worried about? Veld felt as if he was in the doghouse. It wasn’t her place to make him feel like that.

“Do you lie a lot?”

So that was really the issue here. Tifa didn’t even know the half of it.

“Old habit, I will try to curb it for your benefit.”

She bit her lip but went back to varnishing the dulcimer she’d been working on. It was warm again, because they’d had to open the windows due to the varnish. It was Sunday, as well, and they were never exactly open on Sundays. Veld didn’t know why he kept that little tradition. It wasn’t as if he believed in God anymore.

Though he did want to.

The silence was annoying him. Veld was used to a little conversation. Sure, it had only been months instead of years, but what was the difference? Time was time, and he didn’t have as much of it as he used to. Months meant as much as years, and days as much as weeks.

“Have you ever considered anything other than piano?” He spoke, so that she could. She was the only person around, after all.

Tifa smirked, something that he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. “Well, what else has keys on it?”

“Accordion, harpsichord... actually I think we have a broken one around here.”

“All your instruments are broken, except the ones I’ve fixed.”

The statement felt profound. He didn’t know why.

“Then you were right to offer your help.”

He could feel that she expected something else, anything else than that, but she held it back. People that only spoke with half their voice had that tendency.

_ooo_

“I finally got contacted by that dealer about the shotgun that I wanted.”

Tifa didn’t want to meet his eyes. She wasn’t mad at him, she just didn’t want to. He was one of those types of people and it was better that she didn’t.

“Is there a number I can call, if there’s a problem?”

He jotted it down and she realized his handwriting was loopy and graceful. She expected chicken scratch. Then again, she’d expect him to be unable to cook and unable to do his laundry. Veld was one of those people that didn’t fit into what she expected, and yet did. It was frustrating sometimes.

“Just ask for Veld Dragoon.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard your last name, you know. It sounds old.”

“It is.”

There are a lot of things she wanted to say. The worst caught her tongue.

“Will you tell me about your wife sometime?”

From the look he gave, he didn’t lose her to death first. “I suppose if you’re curious... it’s really not important.”

“I was married before too, you know. It happens.” Tifa sold the ring. It was a stupid thing, really, he gave the same silly ring to Barret. She didn’t expect that Cloud and her would last, once she figured out the boy in her mind and the man before her were different. Childhood illusions, those were the hardest to break. At least it had never been public. And so quiet. So brief.

Veld didn’t look like he knew that. Tifa was comforted by this fact. Still meant she was going to tear apart his office while he was gone. But then, to some extent, he probably knew that.

There was something standing between them, and it was very secret.

Tifa had to admit now, that maybe there was a vest interest in this man. If only because there was so much unsaid, and so much that didn’t need to be said. She’d started to worry if his wife, however long ago she was, if she resembled her. Not that she’d ever had the problem of resemblance before, just that the older a man got, the farther they dug themselves into their habits.

At least the chances were slim that they’d once been close to the same person. Or that if she dared anything, it would feel like family. The wrong kind.

She had to wonder what he would think, that what she was hiding behind her banter was something that both inappropriate and familiar.

“I’m sorry that it didn’t work out.”

“It was quick enough that nothing had really changed. So you were going to go on a trip? You don’t look like you’re going anywhere.”

“I’ll go in my own time. Behave.”

“I always behave.”

* * *

AN: The song being sung is DeVotchKa's "You Love Me", which is also where the title of the story is derived. 


	5. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve had this for how long?”

“You’ve had this for how long?”

“Oh, a good five years or so.”

“Did you ever _clean_ it?”

When Veld had come here upon learning about a Mideelese original shotgun, he had expected that the person that owned it would show it the proper respect. But instead, he found an incompetent idiot that didn’t realize the worth of something precious.

He was running into a lot of those lately.

“Well, I shined it a bit.”

“You... nevermind. You have asked a fair price, I will take it off your hands now.”

There was something in the back of his mind that knew leaving Tifa on her own for the couple of days he had might unsettle her. Not that he always assumed people were restless.

_“People eventually move on, Veld. That’s human.”_

“But they don’t have... Ifalna, why do you always have to get so serious on my days off?”

_“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me a little. To think that you would call me serious is kind of funny, don’t you think?”_

Maybe he was the one feeling restless, seeing this almost ruined piece of history and maybe his own... well, fixation was a hard word. He liked things to be familiar, but not the same. Maybe that was it.

“You want the shot with this?”

“No thank you.”

_ooo_

Wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

She shouldn’t have been in his office, she shouldn’t have crossed the line. So what if he didn’t say everything he meant and only half of what he felt, it wasn’t her business. Tifa was his _assistant_ not his wife or his girlfriend or whatever.

Shera would say there was always a fine line there, but her and Cid were strange. Half between abusing and whatever else they did. Tifa didn’t want that, no matter the stability.

Well, she wanted stability, but not _that_ kind.

She’d never properly learned how to pick a lock, but maybe the fact that she was nervous made her hand less steady, and the lock gave. It was just a filing cabinet, not anything special or sacred and for all she knew he was paranoid about taxes or other financial papers.

But Tifa saw names. Lots of them, organized just so. Not alphabetically, but in strange clumps that must have made sense to him.

His own name was on a file. ‘Dragoon, Verdot Michael’. Had to be his. She didn't know of any other 'Dragoon's out there. Though, she'd always assumed it was spelled 'Veld'. Or maybe it was a shortening. 'Verdot' didn't sound right.

Veld’s middle name seemed so normal. She couldn’t help but like it.

Next to his name were a couple names she knew and a couple she didn’t, and a couple that she could extrapolate from. ‘Valentine, Vincent Vickalor’. _Vickalor?_ ‘Gast, Ifalna’ No middle name there. But then, Aeris’s mom had seemed a little different. ‘Dragoon, Lora Marie’ That must have been his wife. ‘Dragoon, Felicia “Elfe” Eileen’. Daughter. Somehow she expected him to have had a son. ‘Tally, Michelle Anise’ Someone she had never heard of.

Better to start with what she didn’t know and work her way up to what she did know.

Michelle Tally seemed the type of woman that Tifa would have liked. She was a cop before becoming a Turk, and had the types of honor that suggested she was tough, but not wholly ambitious. Maybe an old teammate or something. Maybe an old leader. Veld’s age was a hard thing to guess because no one in their generations aged right, so it was hard to figure out when Veld might have known Michelle.

But then, there was a handwritten recommendation. Michelle Tally had recruited him. Obviously not unwillingly, considering some of her comments. She died in action, the file said, quite coldly.

Tifa knew quite well that teachers didn’t always stick around.

Lora’s file didn’t really say much, as far as Shinra went, besides when Veld got married to her and a few divorce papers. Their marriage hadn’t been short, but it hadn’t been long either. While Michelle’s file had no photo, Lora’s did. She wasn’t quite as pretty as Tifa would have imagined her, but she wasn’t ugly either. Orangey red hair kept in a braid and a shy smile. Her death was also recorded. Some kind of accident.

Felicia, however, had quite a record. Tifa had known there had been an AVALANCHE before her and Barret’s, but that was more of a taking on a name than an actual legacy. Small world that the previous figurehead for it was Veld’s daughter.

Which meant she was a few years older than Tifa. It was kind of surprising. Veld didn’t look like he was in his seventies. Hardly at all, really. No wonder he kept making comments about her age.

She didn’t want to dwell on it.

Felicia had her father’s serious expression, hair, and eyes. She was a little pale, but considering her mother, that made sense. It was really the only bit from her mother she seemed to inherit. There was no death date.

So they weren’t speaking.

Ifalna’s file was the most bare, but it had, oddly enough, a pressed and dried flower. Also a picture, which was the kind you could get off of a security camera. When Tifa had pictured Lora, she had pictured someone more like this. Only looking less like Aeris. She couldn’t look at that picture long. Another death date, but she knew that already.

And Vincent’s. It was strange to think that she’d fought with this man, walked halfway around the world with him, but barely even knew him. Not that she was afraid, really, he just never really talked. Of course, she’d wanted to ask him things. Just like there were some things she wanted to ask Cid, and now, things she was digging into Veld’s filing cabinet for.

Vincent’s file was detailed to a level that was almost unsettling. Test scores, medical records, probably everything that Veld could find about the experimentation, and a failed psyche exam.

His picture gave her the willies. Strange how his younger face was scarier than the one she’d become familiar with.

She almost missed it, tucked in between some gun scores. The paper was still crisp and white in the envelop, which simply had ‘Veld’ on it. Tifa would recognize a letter anywhere.

She considered not opening it. But she did.

The letter explained everything. It was the kind of letter someone wrote when they knew something for a long long time and just never had the words until some strange night when everything made sense and they scratched it all into being like a crazed painter. Inspiration spilled out onto a sheet that seemed too flimsy to hold it. It answered her fleeting curiosity as to what had happened to Vincent, as well as what Veld was trying so hard to move on from.

Tifa had never really expected to find something like this. It was strange to find out what Vincent had really been trying to preserve.

_For the love of that god you seem to believe in--just live for a while for yourself. When I go and see her, she would say the same thing. There are people that want to see you live for once, even if they have to look through a one way glass to see it. Don’t let us down._

Her hand that held the page shook.

Maybe she didn’t want to think about it. She wasn’t, no, she wasn’t jealous, or hurt really, it was surreal. She’d barely known Vincent and she’d always assumed, because of Lucrecia... well some people were deceiving.

Maybe because she’d looked away, looked for anything other than Vincent’s scrawl to stare at she noticed the files hidden towards the back of the drawer. She pulled the first one out, curious as to what else he was hiding. Hell, maybe he’d married a flamenco dancer some wild night in Costa.

‘Lockheart, Tifa Rae’

That _bastard._

_ooo_

When Veld got home, the last thing he expected was a furious woman waiting at the door for him, a handful of files that he’d taken a long time to gather and store away laid out on the counter.

_Crap._

“Why didn’t you TELL me?! What is this, all of this? Are you a stalker? Did you plan this? Are you crazy obsessed with me or--"

“No, I’m not. I have a file on you because I have a file on all of your teammates.”

“Right, over Vincent. I found the letter he wrote you. Was he that guy you were talking about? People don’t write letters like that to just anyone.”

He had to think, but he couldn’t think. Why did he want to hide so badly, and what _was_ there to hide anymore? Why did the anger in her voice not make him angry, but make him...

“We were close.”

“Well, that’s an understatement! _God_ I’m such an idiot... What else are you hiding? You still married? A mob boss?”

“Tifa, what is it you want--"

If there was something he learned, it was that martial artists were really dangerous people. He backed up when she advanced, because despite the fact he wasn’t feeble, she could quite possibly injure him good. And he still had a sense of survival. But she was fast.

Quite fast. He cringed when she grabbed his collar, but she wasn’t hitting him.

No, she wasn’t hitting him at all.

“Tifa... I’m more than twice your age and I don’t think that was appropriate considering our working relationship.”

He was quite surprised he could still spin the euphemisms like he used to. Veld was always a bit of a smooth talker, or so some people had said.

She pushed, and he almost tripped on some stupid box on the floor. “Why are you hiding, Veld? Do you really hate the world that much?”

He wasn’t--alright he was. What was it with these types of people that invaded the little holes he’d dug for himself? Maybe he’d tried just a little too hard to move on to something, anything, that he found himself in precisely the position he didn’t want to be in.

“Y-No. I don’t know. I’m just tired of people leaving, I suppose.”

“Well, so am I!”

And they were quiet for a few moments. His hand wasn’t shaking, thank God he’d gotten over that problem, but he felt like it should have been. She’d just... no, he hadn’t imagined it. When he wet his lips he tasted something waxy. She was too practical for anything other than chapstick, really.

When he stopped to _think_ he was more annoyed that she’d beat him to it. But that was the same kind of wrong thinking he always fell to. Wrong, wrong, _wrong._

He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ll want to go for a while.”

“_No._”

Well, he certainly was taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re both tired of the same thing. Maybe... maybe we should just not hide.”

“There are some places I’m not entirely sure we should go.”

“Aren’t you _angry_?” She whispered it, which had more of an impact than any of the shouting she’d done. Angry? What about? What goddamn right did he ever have to be angry?

“About?” His tone of voice wasn’t nearly the diplomatic one he’d been using.

“That’d he’d just go off and _die_ like that?! I barely even knew him and I’m mad! At least he told you! Or, or how about all that other stuff you’re hiding? What happened to your family? What happened to _you_?!”

Really, he’d had enough right about there.

“OF COURSE I’M ANGRY. WHAT THE HELL CAN I DO ABOUT IT?! YOU CAN’T TELL PEOPLE NOT TO DO THINGS WHEN THEY’VE ALREADY DONE IT! YOU CAN’T UNDO _ANYTHING_! NOTHING HAPPENED TO ME BECAUSE I DIDN’T LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO ME!”

“Just to everybody else. Because when you were standing back, they weren’t.”

“_Why_ do some people just have to—“

“Run headfirst into things?”

“YES. WHY?”

It was then that he realized she’d stopped arguing and accusing him and accosting him and whatever other ‘a’ word he could think of. Alexander, he was _angry_ and at any other time, he would have found some way to hide it. But he wanted to go just... use it for something. Anything.

“...Do you know how to use a gun?”

“No.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“Yes.”


	6. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the movies Tifa had always been under the impression when a good looking man taught a woman how to use a gun, there was something else involved. Like he would take opportunities to touch her and other such silly things. She didn’t figure that’s what Veld had meant, and she wasn’t wrong.

In the movies Tifa had always been under the impression when a good looking man taught a woman how to use a gun, there was something else involved. Like he would take opportunities to touch her and other such silly things. She didn’t figure that’s what Veld had meant, and she wasn’t wrong.

He was quite the drill sergeant, really.

“Your safety is still on. You need to turn it off.”

“I know, you went over that already.”

“It won’t work if you don’t.”

“I’ve got it.”

She realized this wasn’t completely right, but it kind of was. They’d been yelling at each other only a half hour prior, and now he was barking instructions and she was shooting empty beer bottles that he’d gotten from the bar down the way. Well, trying to shoot them.

The rifle he’d gotten was still sitting inside. He mumbled about needing to clean it. So he used a couple of pistols. It wasn’t showing off, Tifa figured he was the kind that needed to keep both his hands busy to get over the urge to fight with someone.

She didn’t want to _fight_. But she didn’t want to just sit back either. Quite frankly she was tired of sitting back and letting things happen.

Her aim was terrible.

“I didn’t sell it.”

Veld had settled into a sort of pattern. It was quite obvious he’d practice for years this way, not unlike how she had patterns of exercises that she did. He was a distance fighter, he kept it at arm’s length.

It made sense.

“Are you attempting to be honest?”

Glass made a strange sound when it broke. Shattered. “I figured since the dirty laundry is all out, I might as well come clean.”

She snorted. “I didn’t read yours.”

“You have a strange method for research and spying, then. Why not just go to the source.”

And now that Tifa had time to think... yes she had meant to do that. Kissing him had been way too quick and he’d quite obviously been startled by it, but she thought that he’d responded back, just a little. She just wanted to know if she was imagining that there was this strange thing between them, or if she was chasing someone again.

Well, not like she’d _caught_ anything. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to, given his history of hiding things and well, lying. Tifa couldn’t help the questions, because despite the discoveries she’d made, she still... she still didn’t know.

It was frustrating.

“Why go looking at buttons and ribbons instead of reading my diary or something?”

“You keep a diary?”

“No, why would I do that? I stopped being fourteen quite a bit ago.”

“Don’t hold your elbow like that.”

“Are you always this nit-picky?”

“When the recoil gives you a sore elbow and arm, you won’t complain.”

She adjusted her elbow. “So did you look through it?”

He was reloading. They would be wasting bullets if this was any other time, but a bullet sitting in peace-time was a bullet wasted anyway. Like she didn’t know why she bothered to stay in shape. Tifa could just let herself be plump and be done with it. Roly poly and everything.

“Aim lower next time.” There was a click as the revolver chamber went back into place. “It wasn’t very revealing.”

“Well, neither was your box either.”

A couple of quick shots and two more bottles were made into nothing better than mosaic material. “Are we going to have a problem?”

But she knew that he could get angry, and she liked it. It was a lot better than his politeness. It was honest. Sure, maybe part of the politeness was honest, but not all of it. Just like her optimism. Because part of her knew that things would go wrong, even with the best intentions. Tifa just didn’t want them to happen like that.

It was _realistic._

“I’m not going to be waiting around in a negligee during working hours to seduce you or anything, no.”

Oh, he was a _prude._ Any other man would have smirked or something at such a statement. He looked vaguely horrified.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, about the prying.”

She hit a bottle on a ricochet. Dumb luck.

“On both our parts? Because this isn’t one sided.”

Tifa had to hear herself talk for a minute, to realize what she’d said.

Veld kicked aside a casing. “You need practice. I think you understand the basics enough. If you want to learn.”

He’d ask. She knew it. He would.

_ooo_

Veld had never cared for distractions. Diversions only when they’d been penciled in. Appearances, sometimes. But distractions were unpredictable. Distractions were unnecessary.

It fell under the placement thing again. He never wanted to admit just how much stock he took in that system.

Tifa hadn’t pressed the issue. She was waiting. He was beginning to see that her weapon was patience.

“So you still go by Veld these days.”

Of course, the more he learned about her, the more he realized that there were a lot of sneaky things about Tifa. Like how she never waited around alone.

“And I hear you still have your maiden name.”

Shera hadn’t changed much visually, but there certainly was something less nervous in her voice. He didn’t feel that instinct to reassure her, to make her feel less out of place. She had a slight presence now, an ability to make the surroundings conform to her instead.

And god how he feared when women got like that. Because when they got like that, the people within said surroundings, like he was now, conformed a little too.

“Sorry to just drop in like this, but Tifa had said you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course, not, I only own the place.”

To think that he thought Barret would be the most of his problems concerning the agreement that Tifa and he had come to. At least he had it in writing.

But the warning glance quelled his urge to be a bit prideful for the moment.

“She’s not in?”

“She’s out running. She does that several times a week. You’re welcome to find a seat, just test them for wobbles first, if I were you.”

And the shooting. He had to admit, the somewhat tough approach worked on most people. Challenge their abilities and often they will spend a long time trying to prove the challenger wrong. Tifa wasn’t the type to lash out.

It was unsettling, this running list he was keeping; what Tifa did and did not do.

Shera found a rocking chair, and sat almost primly on it. She would have made a good matriarch at one time, but he knew enough about her career to understand that she’d never tolerate children she couldn’t give back to their parents. It was the strange thing, about _them_. That other side of things he hadn’t been involved in.

The people that had reformed earlier, he supposed.

The thing about them was the little families they created. An extended family of misplaced idealism, maybe, but one all the same. There were uncles and aunts and the young grandchild that everyone cared for. While his kids had been considerably more like a large, dysfunctional family, with fewer dispersed generations. But then, their life expectancy was a short one.

He’d gotten lost in thought again. There was a customer.

“How may I help you today?”

When she came back in, sweaty and healthy, he wasn’t distracted. No no, not at all. He helped the young couple look for some toys, for they were expecting a child and wanted something different. Of course he showed them the little piano that Tifa had taken so much time to restore.

And he didn’t look to see if she noticed. He was and would always be a stubborn man.

So when the ladies informed him they were going about town, he didn’t say anything about his disapproval of the length, or lack thereof, of Tifa’s skirt. Nor warn them about that one corner of town. He merely went through the register, making sure that his count was right for the fifth time.

He did, however, go to church that night.

_ooo_

Shera was wearing sunglasses she’d purchased from a gaudy tiki stand when they sat and drank their virgin drinks. Neither of them much cared for the alcohol, only the fruit. It was the kind of thing two old and young women did when they were away from the men and boys.

“So you kissed him. And?”

Tifa had relayed the story. There was a reason more than to annoy Veld that Shera was in the Costa area. A part of her would be embarrassed at the request, but it had taken years to get to this point; where they were really the better halves of that female sorority that happened when the men weren’t looking. Tifa’s female friends, like her loves, tended to disappear. Shera was still around.

She’d come to accept that bad things happened. And to not wait for them.

“There’s nothing else. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“My mind hasn’t always been in the gutter, thank you very much.”

Tifa had to wonder if men did this too, sitting around and discussing women like they were discussing men. And how it sounded.

“Things like that don’t happen if you don’t want them too, you know.”

Shera’s honesty was a blunt force to the head, usually. It was surprising, considering the mousy thing she’d once been. But that was a completely different situation. Cid was only the impetus, not her whole life. Like Cloud. Tifa couldn’t despise or hate him. Everyone needed a push in the beginning, needed a reason for why their life went in a certain direction. He was a good one. If they’d worked out, it would have been a nice life.

Now? Well, there were possibilities.

Tifa bit her straw. “I’m not really sure what I want to happen. He lies.”

“Honesty only happens if you’re completely secure with yourself.”

Shera was wise, at times. Intelligence didn’t always mean wisdom, and she certainly was intelligent. Rocket scientists tended to be that way. But Shera had some experience and a man that had spent the latter part of his life apologizing for the asshole he had been. Sometimes people failed. Didn’t mean that they couldn’t keep going and make the better of it.

Besides, she had her little revenge once in a while. It meant a lot that Cid would go through it. Men of action really said a lot through action.

“So what should I do?”

What was there to _do_? Tifa wasn’t the hopeful young girl she once was. She was patient, but only for some things. Not everything. Some things needed action, and some things needed to be let go.

But no, he’d kept that box for her, hadn’t he.

“Depends on what you want. The happy ending, or the pleasant one?”

That was why, out of all the women, all of the feminine forces in her life, she’d stayed the closest with Shera. Yuffie would never come to this conclusion. She was forever seeking glory, when all Tifa wanted to do was find somewhere _good_. Her only hope was that she would have someone to sit with her.

Maybe that was what maturity was. Not the expectation of passion, but the desire for comfort. Everyone needed comfort.

It thrummed like a guitar string, this understanding.

“I think I know what to do.”

“Good. Now we can go to the beach and tease surfers.”

_ooo_

The intruder was sleeping upstairs in Tifa’s room, while he was downstairs. Sleep wasn’t happening, so he did what he normally did when that occurred. He worked. Business was a slow and steady trickle, but that didn’t mean he could sit back and let things collect dust.

Especially not now that it was all organized.

Veld thought it strange, the way that his messy little house had been worked through and sorted and lined up. No piles. He’d even built a couple shelves upon Tifa’s instruction.

The intruder she had brought unsettled him more than it should have. He was positive that Tifa had told Shera just enough, considering the knowing glance she gave. It was one of the things that had always made him wary of women; their ways of banding against the male species for specific goals.

Not that he was a misogynist. He had a healthy respect, that was all. Tally had seen to that.

“So you really are trying to learn it.”

Veld didn’t need to look up at her. So maybe figuring out a few chords on the old guitar wasn’t really work. Stringing it had been, though. People were so rough on their stringed instruments.

“It’s a good thing to do when sleepless.”

“You too? Do you mind?” He nodded and she pulled a chair up next to him. He was learning that guitars didn’t make as sad sounds as cellos did.

_“So everyone in that unit had a learn an instrument?”_

“It was a good program. Shame that it got cut.”

_“You only play that sad sap classical stuff, though.”_

_“And what would you play, tone deaf Valentine?”_

_“I’d start a rock band.”_

He wasn’t really playing anything, and the silence beside him stretched out. A chord, a scale, no real definite pattern, yet she still didn’t say anything. Tifa was clearly waiting on him.

Veld might as well say it. “Why do you have such a sad little memory box?”

_“Why do you only listen to sad songs?”_

Tifa took a breath. “I don’t like that we’re going about it this way.”

He frowned. “What way?”

“Like an interview. Or spying. We’re going about it all wrong.”

He waited.

“I like that we’re... we’re pleasant together. All these dramatic and awful things that have happened to us or because of us, well, they don’t matter. I don’t want to chase boys. I don’t want to chase you either.”

Dramatic and awful things. That was a very good way of putting it. Even Lora, who was just an ordinary woman had helped cause a fair share of that. In actuality, he wasn’t looking for Tifa’s deep dark secrets. He was...

“I only wanted to know about the buttons and ribbons in your life.”

“The small things and the sad things?”

“Something like that.”

Her eyes were an ordinary and plain color. He could look at them. “Well, that’s all I was really hoping for too.”

“I’m bad at those sorts of things.”

“But you’re trying.”

“Just as much as your shooting, yes.”

It was hard for a man to stay platonic with a woman that smiled like that.


	7. Under The Mother Eyes of the Costan Sky Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a Sunday, and Veld was making pancakes.

It was a Sunday, and Veld was making pancakes.

Shera had gone home a few days prior, and there were still things they hadn’t asked or touched. But Tifa didn’t feel that same urge to pry anymore, because there was something to the way he was flipping pancakes in their little kitchenette that let her know there would be talks. There would be stories. And it might not hurt so much.

Yes, she could feel a little bit of ownership over the place now. Just a little.

He never wore an apron, but he never really needed one. But he did roll up his sleeves and the phoenix on his forearm appeared to wink at her, like it knew something she didn’t. Or they were in on a shared joke.

“I haven’t seen you fiddling with the guitar lately.”

The griddle hissed as he flipped over one. “I’ve been working on it when you’ve been practicing your bad aim or running.”

“Why? It doesn’t bother me.”

He shrugged. “I concentrate better that way.”

Tifa tucked her feet up on to the chair and rested her chin on her knees. “Makes me want to learn to play something new.”

“There’s a xylophone.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I should probably just pick the piano back up again. What harm could it do?”

It wasn’t harm that was the problem. It was those heavy memories. That heavy honesty. At least she knew her hypocrisy.

They talked about things that didn’t matter when they ate pancakes. Comfortable, yes, she was still comfortable. She could easily stay comfortable with him for a long long time. It wasn’t wishful thinking, that. It was fact.

“We should try playing sometime.”

That prude look again. “How so?”

“With instruments. Like that man in the horribly bad cantina did. You think you could learn guitar in time?”

“I suppose I could. But do either of us sing?”

That answer was no. She didn’t have to ask to know why. It simply was. Like pancakes on Sunday and knowing that he would keep the business going if she decided to be romantic and declare an ultimatum. They weren’t that kind of people, their passions weren’t dramatic. They weren’t even obvious anymore. She could see them sitting on a porch and chatting until they keeled over more than anything else.

Not that ‘anything else’ wasn’t still... well there were awkward times. Mostly from his end.

“We don’t need to sing, if we’re just playing instruments. There’s even a call for that kind of music nowadays.” But the statement was unfinished. Something else was on the tip of her tongue.

“In a month.” She blurted it out before she thought about it. Veld made her do things like that. It was unfair.

“You’d like to play in public in that amount of time?”

“Yes. People are going to be drinking anyway, not like they’ll notice.”

It was hard not to be attached to a man that smiled like that.

_ooo_

Though he didn’t know the reason why, he was disturbed by the fact that Tifa had no letters or pictures given to her. It wasn’t _right_ and even if the definition of right and wrong was fluid with him, Veld felt the need to do something about it.

Only, the answer he thought of wasn’t easy. If Tifa had never been given a letter, it could be said he’d never written one. He carried a blank piece of paper in his pocket now, maybe hoping that it would seize him at random. He might have been good with quick words, and maybe even manipulative ones, but he was never the type to write them himself.

Made him respect those authors and historians he already respected so much more.

“You’re acting foolish,” he muttered to himself. The guitar was nearly mastered at this point, though. He felt accomplished there. Still had the old Dragoon tenacity that had made him famous. Well, not really famous, but there was a sense of being well known amongst the scum of the earth that did make him a little prideful.

Hard work, not talent. That was how he’d become what he was. His fingers still remembered cello strings and guitars really weren’t much different. It was strange how easily he forgot some things, but others... his sense of touch was always memory exact.

There was a customer, another local businessman, and he was talking. But Veld had zoned in on the feeling of paper as he wrapped up a mail order. Tifa apparently used to work in a delivery business, she’d set up something so tourists didn’t break their valuables by transporting them home.

Smoother things like paper and instruments and the like were wearing the calluses off his hands.

“Veld? Not to bother you, but your assistant mentioned that you play guitar to me a few days ago and would be willing to come and play at my bar?”

He heard it that time. She had meant it and was taking steps to keep him from backing out of it. He nodded to the man. Yes, yes he was willing.

The first thing he penned on the paper later when the sun had set and Tifa had gone up to bed was simple. He almost chuckled at the fact he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

_You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met._

_ooo_

She didn’t have to ask him when he told her the story. Though one could hardly call it a story as much as a statement. But Veld was the type of man in which statements could be stories, because he didn’t make solid statements much.

Tifa noticed that he didn’t look at her when he said it, and that he was sanding down the sharp edge on an old toy as he said it. She really took in the details for some reason. She didn’t know why.

“Aeris was a little spitfire.”

It still hung in the air a bit, and she realized that the way he said it, there was an apology but even more so, there was an invitation. He’d pulled out something she would find meaningful, even if she knew what a tempest force Aeris could be and she knew that she had always been that way...

But it was that he acknowledged it. _Them._ That he had been there as well, on his side, with his loyalties.

“I was married to Cloud once, briefly.”

Tifa wasn’t going to give him her buttons and ribbons for that, but she knew that there was no need to pry. Maybe she would never get the whole story, and maybe she would never tell him all of hers.

It was a little more than leaving things in a box, the way that they might continue to speak. But that little more was all the difference.

When they looked at each other finally, they laughed.

“Maybe we should have a story time each week.” It was good when he joked like that.

“Will you bake cookies and let me sit on your lap?”

“Don’t disrespect your elders.”

“Or what?”

He puffed up, making himself look taller. “I’ll send you to the corner with buckets of water.”

She wanted to kiss him for that. But she wasn’t some silly teenager anymore. Tifa was a grown woman and even if he liked to tease her about it, they were now on equal footing. And he had recognized it.

Though, she supposed he didn’t recognize that she’d translated his expressions. They were so subtle, but she’d seen them in reflections and mirrors and sometimes in the corner of her vision. Veld was so careful otherwise.

And this expression didn’t make her worry that she was chasing again.

_ooo_

“You can back out if you want to.”

“And disappoint the drunks? Never.”

They hadn’t practiced together. For all that Veld knew, Tifa had forgotten how to play entirely. She had assured him that she knew the song before she’d given him the music for his own practice, and maybe he’d taken her word on it. At very worst, they looked disorganized. It wouldn’t be a problem.

She was wearing _that_ dress again and had insisted that his tie match. He could never feel uncomfortable in a suit, so despite her little demand, he felt comfortable. Strangely so. Then again, it was a small crowd. No tourists.

The owner had introduced them with the usual informal air that bartenders possessed, and there was a silence now.

He had a few bars before Tifa came in. For a bar, the acoustics were wonderful.

_”Duets are so much better than playing alone. Or a band. We should all start a band. Everyone except Vincent plays something. Maybe we could get him to try the triangle.”_

“It would be a really strange band.”

_“That’s the fun of it. Or at least play with me sometime.”_

Veld was glad that they hadn’t practiced together. The song wasn’t a left behind like the things they had pried into, it was something breathing and alive. He’d always thought that piano players were delicate on their instrument, but Tifa wasn’t. She was brash and her fingers lashed out the notes.

He imagined she was taught on classical at a very young age, and she’d looked out the window and wanted to run or to fight and now that she was her, she was _Tifa_ she put all of it into the music.

By comparison, his playing was so restrained. Maybe he would get her to teach him that kind of liveliness. Vivaciousness. No, the world had not buried her. Just hid her for a while under the grey.

For sixteen measures he saw her under a blue Costan sky. For eight he wondered if she would let him tuck back that stray hair behind her ear. For four he wondered if she would like his daughter.

But for the rest of the song, he stopped disconnecting. He was there. And when it ended, he was left wanting more.

“It wouldn’t be fair to simply play one song, even if it was long.” There was a spattering of applause as he leaned on his stool to talk to her. She grinned.

“What do you have in mind?”

It was yellowing slightly and it had taken him a while to track the sheet music down, but the piano accompaniment would be easy for someone as skilled as she was to pick up on. He’d never played the song, but he’d listened to it a lot.

They’d improvise.

"Stormy Weather?" Her eyebrow curved interestingly.

"Old fogey song. You'll like it, I promise."

He must have said something right, as the skepticism left. There was something nice about the fact jazz was built on improvising, and Tifa seemed to catch on to it rather quickly. He missed a few notes, though. It wasn't perfect.

But it didn't smell like beer quite yet and he imagined that it smelled like a blue sky too. Yes, that had a scent.

They got a few claps anyway, and the owner seemed pleased. He asked them to come back again, learn some more songs. Maybe they'd work up to a full set. At least that's what he thought the man had said. What Veld had realized was that Tifa was distracting.

Quite.

"Maybe we can do this part time."

"Hmm?"

"Play at bars and cafes and all that. Maybe start a band if we run into anyone else."

Normally, such a close call between the past and the present would unnerve him. Normally, he wouldn't have disconnected so much and walked so closely.

"No, we don't need to start a band."

There were beautiful things and beautiful people in the world. Why did he always seem to miss them until they were almost gone?

"Anti-social?"

If she were Ifalna, she would have found a way to hook her arm with his. If she were Lora they would be talking purely about music. If she were Valentine, they'd be arguing about something just to get the other to notice.

"No... I don't feel particularly like sharing you."

But she was Tifa, and Tifa was the most stubborn woman he had ever encountered and yet one of the most patient. And they were walking in the dark not far from _his_ house, which she'd gone to the trouble to clean and organize and prod out of its stagnant state. There was something metaphoric about that too, and he wanted to chuckle about it.

More than anything, Veld wanted to tuck that damned stray hair of hers back.

"That's sweet of you in a strange way."

"Stop for a second."

He knew that Tifa was young. Really young. But she had the misfortune of being born in the wrong generation. He could see that. She would have fit much better with the ladies of his era or before, not just in appearance, but attitude. They were people that wanted to settle and _be_. The grand adventure was something that just kept getting in the way. Made them lose sight.

Veld wasn't going to lose sight. At least he hoped not. And tucking that hair back didn't cause the world to end or for her to slap him or anything.

"Couldn't help but notice it."

When he opened the door and let her in, he'd fully intended on sitting and talking with her. No stories of the past, nothing crazy like that. But when he closed the door and they _paused_\--not just him, both of them--the shift in how things were going with them was very evident.

"Would you--"

But he didn't finish, because she was gripping his jacket and his arms were around that impossible waist and she didn't smell like perfume which was great because he hated perfume. He had a brief instant of wanting to say something about their working relationship, but she felt so _warm_ and he hadn't realized how cold the night was in such a place as Costa.

They would clean up in the morning.

_ooo_

Tifa woke up because of a draft. They weren't drunk or stupid, so they had managed to fall asleep in a bed at least. Hers. She couldn't remember what position they'd conked out in and really, it didn't matter. What mattered right now was that instead of a warm body there was a cool draft from the air conditioning vent.

Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at the empty pillow beside her. Well, not empty, as there was an envelope with her name written neatly on it. Reno and Cloud had left without a word, but Veld was polite. He’d at least leave a note.

She was wrong, she was wrong...

When she ran downstairs in a robe, hurriedly tying it, she almost didn’t smell it. Tifa had already decided what had happened, and she was going to hunt him down and make him--

He was cooking breakfast. That smell was bacon. He was wearing clothes, but comfortable ones.

She hadn't even realized he owned a pair of drawstring pants like that.

"Is something wrong?"

And smooth move, she was gaping, with the neatly addressed to her envelope crinkling in her hand.

“I thought you’d... you’d...”

“Left you a goodbye note?”

“Yes.”

“More like a hello. Sorry if that startled you.”

"No, no, it was my mistake."

He put the pan down and looked at her. "I only say goodbye properly."

She supposed that made sense. Considering his experience with letters. "That's good. Are you..."

"Saying goodbye now? No. I'll have to eventually, but that's not my fault."

Oh, he didn't say what she'd thought he'd said? Did he? "It's why I have ribbons and buttons. Ribbons from my old friends, buttons from the new ones... things they left behind because they never said bye. Not to me but not to her either."

Even if some had only partly left and there was a ribbon missing from her collection. Stupid man, if he wasn't dead she'd dig him up again and kick him for going like that.

It was far too early in the morning to be talking about this, but he'd talked about longer than tomorrow in a couple words and she never got that. Cloud was yesterday and Reno was today, but Veld actually understood that time was a constant flow. That it all got so mixed up sometimes that you just had to be there.

He knew that words didn't work for these kinds of hurts. Tifa had missed the simple comfort of an arm around her. Veld couldn't have known that from files and spying. No, that was something you just _knew_ or didn't know.

He had a steady heartbeat. It fit.

"I think you're burning the bacon."

"Let the bacon burn."

"I'm such a bad influence on you."

"You're the one who's flashing me."

For once, Veld had made her turn red. She hadn't realized that she'd failed in actually fastening her robe. Dirty old man.

This didn't fix everything. Or anything. But what had happened for once was that it didn't seem to have caused any dramatic new problems. And for that Tifa was glad that they weren't young. No, she couldn't have met him any earlier than she did. They couldn't have sped things along or slowed them down. The time was now. They needed all the other mixed up times to understand how to say hello.

She'd wait until he was working to read her letter.

"Let's see what other bits of breakfast we can salvage. You're such a distraction."

"And what is so distracting about me?"

She couldn't _wait_ to call Shera.

"Everything."


End file.
